
Image: Pixabay
Catherine knew she was lucky the day she married David.
True, there had been little passion between them, there time in the bedroom the definition of propriety – lights off, socks on, do your duty and think of England.
But there were other benefits to being Mrs David Campion that added zest. The flat in Kensington for one and the detached house on Sandbanks, within earshot of the surf and its own beach. She’d loved jaunts to the continent in the Aston – oysters and Bollinger and trips to Cannes for the festival.
Now she stood on her Mother’s coconut matting, smelling boiled cabbage and liver, her Gucci luggage and the clothes on her back all that was left of that tissue paper life.
Mum appeared from the front room, arms crossed over her sagging chest. ‘You know what I say, our Cath?’
‘Catherine.’
A steely eye fixed her. ‘Cath. If you’re going to squeeze oranges, you’ve got to expect pips. Kettle’s on.’
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Written in response to My Loving Wife’s #tuesdayuseitinasentence. See the word, use it in a post. Brought to you today by the word ZEST